


A Shot in the Head

by BenedictCumberwumberbatch



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Feels, M/M, Multi, dark!john, gun - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-11
Updated: 2014-06-11
Packaged: 2018-02-04 06:50:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1769632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BenedictCumberwumberbatch/pseuds/BenedictCumberwumberbatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I bloody HATE you Sherlock Holmes!” John growled angrily as he raised his small hand gun and pulled the trigger, aiming it at Sherlock’s heart (which he apparently has) and shooting him dead on. Dead, leaving Sherlock’s body withering on the ground, blood pouring out of both his chest and his mouth, eyes fully dilated and glazed over, skin pale and torn against his fragile posture which lay sprawled over the floor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

“I bloody HATE you Sherlock Holmes!” John growled angrily as he raised his small hand gun and pulled the trigger, aiming it at Sherlock’s heart (which he apparently has) and shooting him dead on. Dead, leaving Sherlock’s body withering on the ground, blood pouring out of both his chest and his mouth, eyes fully dilated and glazed over, skin pale and torn against his fragile posture which lay sprawled over the floor.  
  
Pulling a trigger on Sherlock Holmes was exhilarating, mind blowing. It left John wondering why he hadn’t done it sooner, but also, why he had done it. That thrill of killing that ‘Genius’ was amazing, his flat mate whom he thought was his friend lay dead on the kitchen floor now, the blood spilling itself everywhere, like Sherlock, being more dramatic than necessary. The blood that spilled was just a stain on a shirt, something tedious but could be removed quite simply and would be like it was never there.  
  
Then there was the gun that John held in his hand, John’s rough hands that had been beaten and bruised from years in the Army, from years of solving cases with Sherlock and years of stress and anger. The gun though, on the other hand was new. Shiny, clean, polished so well that you could look at yourself in it. And the smoke pouring out of the gun, ladling itself onto the kitchen floor, you may have thought John was trying to shoot a wild animal or a robber with the stance he held.  
  
And so, you may ask, what brought John to this moment in his life where he felt compelled to shoot the Great Detective that stood before him, to murder in cold blood and to not feel any regret or remorse whatsoever. That would tip a calm, coordinated and cool army doctor over the edge and to kill someone whom saved other people, whom detected evil in the world, despite his pretentious and egoistic ways of acting.  
  
It had all started mere days, almost a week ago on one particular case. One case that had been bugging both Sherlock and John for weeks, tearing at the genius’s mind and causing him to go back to his state of smoking to calm himself down and to think. So, it had all merely begun in a small park corner with simply Lestrade and himself, John was talking to him.  
  
Taking a sip of his tea that was situated inside a tall, metallic flask, John was querying Lestrade about Sherlock. Despite having known him for at least three years now, John had still yet to learn about Sherlock in University and School, how he acted and what he studied. How Sherlock came to be, the great detective he was. Eventually, Lestrade reached the subject of Sherlock’s childhood, how his father had killed himself and Sherlock’s mother whilst he was at the tender age of 10 because she had an affair, only a few days after herself being let out of the psychiatric unit at the local ‘hospital’. How Sherlock had been practically raised by Mycroft since that day, Mycroft being almost 10 years older than Sherlock he had already secured his place at the government and was practically running the country.  
  
Then, John curiously asked about Sherlock’s university. That was, of course, the first mistake. John had never expected that Sherlock had been Asexual all his life, that would have been curious. He must have ‘experimented’ as Sherlock was in his more ‘rebellious’ years, but he had never expected to hear what Lestrade replied.   
  
Lestrade stated that Sherlock, wasn’t in fact gay as John thought. More, bisexual, that he had heard from Mycroft on numerous occasions that he had walked in on Sherlock in some ‘awkward conditions’ as Mycroft put it, in bed with both males and females, quite deluded and smiling happily. Those, were apparently the days when Sherlock was taking Heroin and had managed to concoct himself a small amount of Opium. John chuckled quite a bit of the thought of Sherlock being a ‘womanizer’ or a ‘man eater’, imagining Sherlock much younger, toned body underneath the covers with his black, curly hair bouncing a little as he....  
  
John blushed as he got ahead of himself, turning to Lestrade as he asked more about it, only to be answered with a surprising statement, that Sherlock does have a lover. Now, not in the past, that there has been rumours going around Scotland Yard, that people have seen Sherlock walking into hotels to meet people, that they have found condoms in drugs busts when he wasn’t expecting it. Now John spurted his tea all over his lap, Sherlock, in a relationship?! How could that be, that his flat mate was seeing someone under his nose, that he never knew about!  
  
Was it a boy, a girl, transvestite or something far more interesting that really sparked John’s imagination, that it could be a world of ideas?! Maybe Sherlock and Mycroft had some creepy incest love....- God no, John shook that idea, that image out of his head. The Holmes’ were creepy, but not that disturbing. They wouldn’t... would they?! Or maybe it was Moriarty, but it couldn’t be, he was dead. And it wouldn’t be Anderson, no, Sherlock loathed Anderson, John trusted that he knew that much about his flat mate.  
  
Lestrade grinned though and looked at John as he thought of all these ideas and stopped him by placing a doughnut in John’s mouth cheekishly.  
  
“I can tell you who it is John...”  
  
“MrnMrnMrn!”  
  
John nodded insistently as Lestrade grinned and leaned into John’s ears and whispered in a hushed, teasing tone into John’s ear the name of Sherlock Holmes’ lover. John’s eyes widened, mouth gaping open as the doughnut fell to the floor where a pigeon swanned down to attack it.  
  
“No.....”


	2. Two

Two, long, days later, John and Sherlock were hovering over a body. A very intriguing case that had caused Sherlock to frown heavily. The body, as such, was not a body, more a collaboration of bones and parts of a body attached to a man’s torso to create an illusion of a body. And John, John simply stood there, looking down at the body, tilting his head curiously. Of course, what Lestrade had told him previously still played on his mind, causing him to look at Sherlock with slightly flushing cheeks. This, of course, was amplified as Sherlock leant down to survey the body, John glimpsing at Sherlock repeatedly, until Lestrade pointed out to John that he was almost bright red and was looking, how he put it, suspicious.   
  
After a few minutes of deep thinking and studying the body with his small magnifying glass, Sherlock eventually stood up and looked at John with a stern look, tilting his head as if to query or accuse John.  
  
“What do you see there John?”  
  
“Uh...Uhm...” John was a little taken back by this sudden statement, gurgling a little as he attempted to talk to Sherlock, spewing out anything that made sense, which of course, did not make sense in the orders he put it.  
  
“Well, there’s body and parts and there’s no head and no signs of struggle and....” John stuttered in an almost comical way, causing Sherlock to shake his head, clearly disappointed and Lestrade to smirk a little, covering his mouth to prevent a laugh at John’s utter confusion.  
  
“Of course there’s no signs of struggle John, you utter idiot. It’s a mix of six different people’s limbs and body parts. The killer has obviously chosen the ‘best bits’ where there is no sign of the killer or how they died on the body parts. All apart from the torso, which-“ Sherlock tossed the body over to reveal six slashes across the back of the torso, all ingrained deep into the body with dried blood surrounding the deep wounds. “-has these slashes on. Judging by the width, depth and continuancy of the ‘slashes’, it was made by an ordinary butchers knife. Like that one-“ Sherlock pointed to a knife, without looking, hidden in the bushes. “-but, of course, that knife isn’t the one he used. No, no, no. He isn’t that stupid. Not this killer, this ‘madman’. These victims had all something in common.... but what?”  
  
Lestrade and John stood there, mouths agape a little, looking at Sherlock with utter awe as a few forensic investigators ran towards the direction Sherlock had been pointing in, a few moments later calling out to confirm that there was no blood on that knife, nor any prints. It was completely ‘clean’ of usable evidence. Then, finally, John spluttered again, using his hand to prop up his chin and trying to look as casual as he could about the whole subject.  
  
“How did you know it was a male, Sherlock? Surely there’s no evidence that could compel-“   
  
“That, my dear Watson, is where you are wrong.” Sherlock smirked, standing up and indicating for John to step forward and look at the body.   
  
“See how the knives are elevated, how the force went into there? This is a typical showing of brute force and of how a male would most likely kill someone, that they would let someone bleed to death. A woman, more likely than not, would kill from the front.” Sherlock whirled John around so his back was pressed against Sherlock’s chest, using John as a demonstration dummy. “See, a woman may slit someone’s neck and kill them that way, or stab them in the chest. But a male, this is far more prominent.” Sherlock let go of John, whom had been far more concerned about the amount of contact between Sherlock and John than the killer.  
  
“But.... that can’t be all, can it?” Lestrade furrowed his eyebrows, stepping forward almost saving John from being spotted by Sherlock. “I mean, there must be more evidence of it being a male attacker.”  
  
Sherlock simply smirked, that oh so famous smirk, stepping forward he revealed a small football ticket that he had found on the ground near the body, handing it over to Lestrade.  
  
“The killers, I presumed. Judging by the wear on it and how the blood has spilled onto it, it must be his. And the ticket, football, Everton. It is highly unlikely that a woman would have owned this ticket, considering the ticket does in fact contain a credit card number, I am sure you will be able to investigate that thoroughly.”  
  
Sherlock smirked and let out a small sigh of content, god, he loved showing off. And that was it for John, he loved the fact that Sherlock showed off so much, that he- no, John stopped himself. He couldn’t think that way of his flatmate, his best friend. Sherlock was asexual, god, he probably reproduced by mitosis!   
  
Then, as Sherlock and John where walking away, in silence, as per usual, John popped the question.   
“Sherlock. Are you bisexual?”  
  
Sherlock’s reaction was priceless, stopping briefly and blinking once, twice he took four deep breaths as he took another step, acting as if he never heard the question and leaving it in silence, as if what John had said had been, in fact, a joke.  
  
“I’m not joking Sherlock. Are you bisexual?” John inquired again, persisting in the fact that Sherlock may have a weak spot and that he in fact, may be in a relationship. Of course, John kept telling himself that he wasn’t interested in himself, more that it would be something to put on his blog once they got home.  
  
“Did you know that the body was killed by someone with an army training? Maybe you know him. I suppose I should have a look at your comrades whom left at the same time as you, to check that they’re not the murderer...”  
  
“Sherlock....” John said, sternly, as if telling of a child. “Answer me.”  
  
“.....Did Lestrade tell you this? Or was it Mycroft? Or Anderson perhaps?” Sherlock queried after a minute of thinking of an answer, an excuse to prolong the answer to that imminent question, hailing a cab he hummed in silence, hoping that would almost throw John for some reason.  
  
“It was Lestrade. Now tell me Sherlock...” John stated, following Sherlock into the taxi swiftly with no hesitation as he shut the door and turned to Sherlock, almost glaring him down, giving Sherlock no option but to answer.  
  
“Well, you see...”  
  
“Sherlock..... Tell me. Or I’ll... I’ll...” John frowned and tried to think of something and despereatley pulled out of his mind a; “I’ll move out of Baker Street.”

 


	3. Three

Sherlock blinked. Twice, once for taking in what John said and once again as a natural reflex that all humans do when presented with something that may shock or affect someone. Of course, he had expected John to blackmail him in some way, but not this way. He didn’t know if he could stand John leaving him, leaving Baker Street. It didn’t seem right, not this way at least. Never this way.  
  
“Well Sherlock?” John frowned, heavily in fact. He wanted an answer. Now. He wouldn’t take no for an answer, trying to take a different route, John smirked and leaned back. “On the other hand Sherlock, I could always go through your room. Your /private/ room that may have some... items that would enable my answer fuller.” John smirked. Surely this would get Sherlock, make him think what it could be that would catch him out. But oh no, Sherlock’s a genius.  
  
“Go ahead.” Sherlock smirked back at John, playing this ‘game’ carefully. “I don’t care. I have nothing to hide in /my/ room.” Sherlock smirked again, humming playfully. “Don’t you think if I had a lover of sorts, I would keep anything discriminatory with him or her? Really John, you’re losing your touch.”  
  
The cab pulled up to Baker Street and John frowned heavily, almost glaring he caught Sherlock’s sleeve as he left the cab, tugging him back into John’s arms so he could hold Sherlock still long enough to talk to him and survey his reactions.  
  
“Sherlock. Tell me, I have a right to know...” John almost pleaded, attempting to give Sherlock puppy eyes and for him to spill everything to John, he knew it had a high chance of failing. And fail it did, failing constantly as Sherlock simply tugged away from John with a smug smirk and hummed before he paused and said;  
  
“Why do you want to know that badly John? You had previously insisted that you were not gay, yet here you are, almost begging to know about my sexuality and sex life. That would be of no interest to you, unless, you are gay.” Sherlock smirked and stood back before turning to Baker Street, sorting his coat sleeve out as he unlocked the front door and stormed inside, a very confused John following.  
  
“I-I’m not gay Sherlock!” The Army Doctor stuttered indifferently, blinking numerous times to try and persuade that thought out of his head. The thought of himself and Sherlock being together, a couple... Before snapping out of that mindset, he frowned. “You know I’m engaged to Mary, Sherlock! For crying out loud... I’m only curious!”  
  
“Said the ‘innocent’ teenage boy to his girlfriend.” Sherlock sighed and shook his head, finding this both tedious and amusing he continued to sit down and hum in almost silence, looking around curiously for a case file that he was needing to research the dead bodies and whom they belonged to.  
  
“Pardon?! Sherlock! Don’t-!” John stuttered again, a little annoyed if truth be told that Sherlock was playing John around, considering that he had started off so strong. Then he remembered the threat he had originally made and how it had caused Sherlock to feel that little ping of pain, emotional attachment. Pushing his tongue to the roof of his mouth, John frowned a little as he played his words carefully. “Sherlock, I will leave. I can move in with Mary anyway, anytime she said.... If you don’t tell me, I will leave.”  
  
Despite the firmness that this awkward little man had been trying to push across to the Great Detective, he still managed to act insecure and to Sherlock’s delight, not very promising in fulfilling his promise that he would leave.  
  
“You won’t leave John.” Sherlock stated, stretching a little as he tossed the case file over his shoulder and into a pile of other case files behind him.   
  
“Oh...” John blinked then shook his head, as if he was coming out of a daze, he captured the moment that Sherlock threw the case file and as it hit the floor, it hit John. It hit John what Sherlock was doing and the brave Army Doctor frowned. He frowned heavily and knew the only resolution to this was to confront Sherlock cleverly, almost as wittingly and cleverly as Sherlock himself. But only more so, you see, John had the advantage. That caring, was not an advantage. Not to Sherlock anyway.  
  
So, John simply smirked and almost lunged forward, landing in Sherlock’s lap he grabbed a hold of Sherlock’s shoulders and looked directly into those green eyes, briefly getting lost in their beauty, he shook his head and frowned, but continued the charade, leaning into Sherlock’s ear he whispered “Sherlock, it’s me, isn’t it? You know you can’t have me because of Mary, because I am /not gay/, so you can’t bring yourself to tell me what you’re feeling? It’s okay Sherlock... I accept your feelings.” John smirked and cooed, leaning back briefly so he could study Sherlock’s reaction.  
  
And that reaction, wow, it was priceless. Sherlock’s face, his eyes repeatedly blinking, his cheeks almost flushed but keeping his composure Sherlock coughed and frowned heavily, moving his hands to push John away.  
  
“No, John. I don’t have feelings for you, I never will. You are just an Army Doctor, not interesting enough for me. I know the game you’re playing.” Sherlock coughed as he pushed John away again, causing John to stagger and fall off Sherlock’s lap with a huge frown across his face. What was Sherlock thinking? Surely he would have denied the accusation more, state that he already had a lover of sorts, John just had to try harder, so much to his embarrassment, John stood up and leaned forward to reach to Sherlock’s ear and whisper the same phrase as before cooingly, and yet again, Sherlock replied with the same statement, that he did not have feelings for John and never would.  
  
John then took this to the fullest extent he could, flirting with Sherlock constantly and using every opportunity, even whilst Sherlock was researching his case and studying evidence, to try and persuade Sherlock to tell John what was wrong. But Sherlock didn’t snap, of course he wouldn’t snap. So then, John just upped and left Baker Street. He would think of another way to persuade Sherlock of this information, no matter what. He would toy with Sherlock’s emotions (if he had any) and anything else that he held dear, just to find this information out.  
  
John Watson, was becoming obsessed.


End file.
